


caught on tape

by Bloodsbane



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Canon Asexual Character, Dirty Talk, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paranoia, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Secret Relationship, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Vaginal Fingering, Workplace Sex, acousticophilia, s2 era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:41:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24342949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodsbane/pseuds/Bloodsbane
Summary: Jonathan's paranoia leads him to suspect that Martin and Tim, who have fallen into the habit of sneaking off together, are up to something. In an effort to discover what they've been discussing behind closed doors, he plants several tape recorders across the institute, hoping to record an incriminating conversation.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 9
Kudos: 164





	caught on tape

**Author's Note:**

> cws for this include:
> 
> > martin and tim are unaware that they're being spied on/recorded   
> > an ace char being aroused by audio of his co-workers having sex  
> > jon is brought up once in a fantasy-scenario as being a (possibly) active participant (tim and martin aren't aware of his sexuality at this point)  
> > martin and jon are both trans; im gonna try using neutral/masculine terms for them this time around 
> 
> i'll also mention that while i put this in the jon/mar/tim tag because it involves all three of them, and i think people interested in that pairing will enjoy this, the fic isn't going to resolve with the three of them getting together. it's rather self-contained. obvs the martim fwb situation is established though. 
> 
> anyways, this is just pwp, so don't worry too much i'd say! hope you enjoy~

Tim and Martin were up to something.

Jon knows they are. He _knows_ they’re up to something. 

He just doesn’t know what.

Ever since the Prentiss attack -- ever since Gertrude was discovered -- nothing in the Archives has felt right. Jon is haunted by the sense that he’s being watched quite keenly, and none of his assistants seem like their regular selves. Tim has been a bit more distant with Jon, and a bit snappish in general. Martin is doting as ever, but his insistence on trying to get close to Jon, to constantly interrupt him for offers of tea or lunch breaks, is beginning to grate on his nerves. It’s somehow worse, now that he can’t help doubting Martin’s motives. Then there’s Sasha, who doesn’t _seem_ too different from her usual self. Maybe a bit quieter? There’s something about her that bothers Jon, though, something he has trouble putting into words, so he simply lumps it in with all the other uncertainties that have been keeping him up at night. 

So, yes, things haven’t been great lately, and everything feels off. Jon can’t help the feeling that he’s waiting for something awful to happen, waiting for someone to stab him in the back the second he lets his guard down. 

So he notices Tim and Martin each and every time they slip away together.

Sometimes they disappear deeper into the archives, usually when Sasha is out and Jon’s busy with a statement. More often he’s noticed them leaving the basement altogether, standing close, talking in hushed whispers. 

They’re discussing something. Planning something? Or perhaps even plotting?

Whatever it is, it’s driving Jon mad that he doesn’t know. And so, burning with the need to discover whatever they’re trying to keep secret from him and Sasha, Jon has started following them. 

They like to talk in closets a lot. Once, Jon nearly dared to approach, but he really couldn’t risk being discovered. Not to mention he would look quite conspicuous should anyone actually walk by, standing in an empty hallway with his ear to the door. 

Tim and Martin always chose the most secluded corners of the institute to have their little meetings. This left few options, though, which made Jon’s job a lot easier. One evening, Jon stayed just late enough to plant tape recorders in all of the closets they frequented. 

Of course, he couldn’t just leave them running indefinitely, but they had all noticed the tapes lately. They seemed to appear at random, lately, cassettes at the ready, sometimes turning on by themselves when a conversation was under way. Jon was reluctant to rely on any _supernatural_ help for this, but he didn’t have much of a choice, and if they happened to catch something he would’ve otherwise missed, he wasn’t going to complain. 

Then Jon waited. 

For three weeks, he waited. He tried to keep up appearances, reading statements and deploying his assistants to go after leads whenever necessary, but more than ever Jon tried to observe their behavior. Gradually, he began to see a pattern. Tim and Martin usually slipped away together if Sasha was out of the building, or just before Jon began recording a statement, which could take upwards of thirty minutes on a good day. He often noted their return after he was finished, both of them slipping back into the basement as casually as possible. 

Jon also noticed these little excursions tended to happen when one or both of the men seemed frustrated. Tim’s temper had been flaring lately, but there were days when he just got quiet, cold and unapproachable in a way that Jon had never really seen before the worms. Once, when Jon was on his way back from fetching something from document storage, he actually got to see Martin approach Tim while he was in one of his moods. The larger man had leaned over, head tilted to speak quietly into Tim’s ear. Jon couldn’t see Martin’s face, but he could see Tim’s from his spot around the corner, and the man’s expression lit up just a bit when Martin spoke to him. After heaving a sigh and offering a little shrug, Tim had allowed Martin to take him by the wrist and lead him out of the archives. Jon followed just long enough to make note of which closet door they disappeared into. 

Whenever possible, if Jon was anticipating the two were about to sneak off, he would try to slip out of the archives as nonchalantly as possible and head to the closets with the most promise. He would check the tapes to make sure they were where he’d left them, then switch them on. Each cassette had about forty-five minutes worth of space on each side, so as long as he was quick, he had a chance to catch at least some of Tim and Martin if they spoke again. 

Finally, one Friday night, Jon gathered up the all the tapes he’d hidden away. Everyone else was gone for the night -- even Elias had left early, his day packed full of business meetings. There were five tapes in total. Jon carried them back down into document storage, locking the door behind him. The room had certainly seen better days, but it didn’t look so bad anymore. The hole Tim had made in the wall was fully patched up, and all the dust and rubble had been cleaned up. The cot was in its usual spot. Jon climbed onto it and sat cross-legged atop the sheets, spreading out his recorders. 

He could tell immediately that two of them had never been set off, and so he set them aside. Then, choosing the one on his far left, Jon rewound the tape. He had no idea what was going to be on this tape, but whatever it was, he knew it was something that Tim and Martin wanted to keep a secret. Which meant it could be dangerous, which meant Jon _had_ to know. He wouldn’t be caught by surprise again. 

The cassette clicked, a familiar sound. After a few seconds of hesitation, Jon forced himself to take a deep breath and press play. 

For a moment there’s nothing but the usual churning of the tape, a sound that’s become almost comforting to Jon. He relaxes barely an inch before he hears the closet door open, then all his nerves are alight once more. There’s the shuffling of feet, then the sound of the door closing; soft breathes in a small space. 

Then Martin speaks, his voice surprisingly clear, despite the fact that Jon knows he’d hidden the tape behind several other objects. The first thing he says is, “I think Jon knows.”

Jon nearly stops breathing.

“Knows what?” Tim grumbles. 

“About- about this! Us, sneaking off to, to, y’know.”

Jon can feel his hands trembling. Some part of him wants to turn off the tape, but more of him leans forward, eyes glaring at the device in his hand, burning to know exactly what sort of awful thing his co-workers have been hiding from him. 

“There’s no way he knows,” Tim says. 

“But I swear I’ve seen him watching us,” Martin replies. His voice has gotten a little quieter. 

“He’s been watching _everyone_ , Martin. It’s bloody annoying.” 

“Well, yes, but I mean more than that. I mean us in particular - you and I. And I- I’m pretty sure he’s been following us.” 

“What?”

“Around the institute. God, Tim, I can’t keep doing this if he _knows.”_

“He doesn’t know,” Tim insists, but his voice has gotten just a little bit gentler. There’s more of that playfulness Jon remembers. It’s almost jarring to hear, which makes Jon feel some sort of heavy emotion in his stomach, one he’s keen to ignore. “Martin, I promise, there’s no way Jon has any idea what we’ve been doing in here.” 

There’s a pause, then a sigh -- something brief and audibly fond, if exasperated. “This is such a bad idea,” Martin muses aloud, sounding long-suffered as if this is a point he’s made multiple times. Tim only laughs in response. 

“I thought you were through feeling prudish over doing this at work.”

“How I feel doesn’t matter in the slightest, Tim! We really shouldn’t be doing this here-”

“Still afraid we’ll get caught? I told you, no one comes in this section of the archives. Like, _ever.”_

“I know that, Tim. But… but still. It’s the principle of the thing, or whatever.”

There’s a brief pause. Then Jon hears something soft, like- like fabric, the sound of clothes shifting. Martin makes a tiny noise, almost lost amidst the noise of the tape. 

“Maybe it’s not getting caught at work that’s got you so riled up,” Tim says. Jon feels himself perk up again. Something about Tim’s voice has changed. He still sounds friendly, but it somehow rings false -- there’s an edge to it, something a bit heavier, darker. “Maybe you’re just worried about Jon catching you in here.”

“W-well, yes, I just said that-”

“What’s wrong Martin?” There’s a squeak -- that would be Martin -- and the sound of something bumping into one of the boxes in the closet. Jon can’t help leaning even further towards the recorder, nearly curled around it, as he strains to hear what Tim whispers next. “Afraid Jon’s gonna find out what you’ve been doing with me in these closets? Don’t want him to learn how much of a little office slut you are?” 

Jon stops breathing. Properly this time. 

The lack of breathing means that he can hear, quite clearly, the way Martin responds to this comment: a shaky exhale, one that turns into something else at the very end. Just a bit of a moan. 

Jon’s thumb flies to the stop button and presses it. The cassette clicks to a halt, and the sound is loud and definitive in the empty quiet of the room. Jon closes his eyes and tries to find his breath again. 

This is- 

Were… were they… all like this? 

There was no way. He- he couldn’t believe it. There was no way that Tim and Martin had been- had been sneaking off, in the middle of the work day, to go into closets and-

and-

Jon struggles. He uncurls from his position, holding the recorder away from his body as if it has become somehow dangerous; yet, it remains firmly in his grip. He stares at the ceiling. Glares at it, actually. 

There is no way he caught his two subordinates having- _fraternizing_ in the Institute. There is no way in hell that Jon has at least one, possibly three tapes of Timothy Stoker and Martin Blackwood hiding in closets so that they could… mess around. At work. On the clock. 

Three tapes. 

Jon looks at the other two devices resting on the bed by his knee. He could put down this one to check the others. It… it wouldn’t take long, he suspects, to confirm what is on them. And if all three contained only- If they were all the same, then he would know his little mission had been a waste of time. He’d made an incorrect assumption, had suffered under a misunderstanding, and in the end that meant no harm had been done, really. Tim and Martin were not plotting some sort of malicious scheme or murder plot under Jon’s nose. They were just… 

He looks at the tape in his hands. It’s just a rough estimate based on how long it took to rewind, but Jon is pretty sure most of the tape was filled. 

There’s really no way to tell exactly what is on the tape, is the thing. Anything could happen in the span of forty or so minutes that could be saved on one cassette. Who knows what sorts of things Tim or Martin might be saying _afterwards?_

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. Jon tells himself, once, out loud, “I’m not going to listen to the rest of this tape.” But the words taste like nicotine on his tongue and Jon feels his finger already moving. It gives him a mere second to prepare himself before pressing play once more. 

The first thing he hears is Tim, chuckling, then Martin’s muffled grumbling as the two of them- Jon thinks they’re kissing. It’s quiet, but there’s something telling about the way they breathe, and there barely-there sound of wetness. 

When they pull apart, Jon makes a sound, startling himself. He finds he has to shift, an unfamiliar tingling sensation sparking along his lower back, down his legs. He un-crosses them, assuming they’re going numb, and pushes himself to lean against the wall as he pulls the tape closer. 

Tim’s breathing is a bit heavy, but his voice retains that deep note when he speaks again. It rumbles through the small space, ringing clear for Jon on the other end of the tape. “Bet you’d like it though, wouldn’t you? If he saw you like this.”

“Tim-”

“You’d let him watch,” Tim claims. “You’d spread your legs for him, put on a show, if it meant he’d look at you.” 

“Tim.” The second time it’s a plea, breathy and heated, and more than a few emotions fight for dominance in Jon’s stomach. There are too many- too many little thoughts lighting up in his head, it’s distracting, he can’t _think_ about what he’s hearing, can only bring the tape closer and focus. There’s no time to dwell on what Tim is saying, or how it’s making Jon feel, or what Martin is saying and how _that’s_ making Jon feel. He closes his eyes and tries to swallow, but his mouth has gotten very dry. 

“I bet you’re already wet,” Tim mutters, arrogant, and Martin moans. Jon has never heard either of them sound like this before. He couldn’t have ever imagined Martin could sound quite so… so needy. Desperate. Sweet. Like he’s going to fall apart if Tim doesn’t give him something. 

There’s the shuffling sound of clothes, a couple of steps. Then suddenly Martin gasps, a bit sharply. It’s punctuated by a wobbly, nervous laugh. 

Tim’s voice is starkly, earnestly surprised when he softly exclaims, “Oh, wow.” Martin laughs again, sounding quite embarrassed, and Jon suddenly wishes more than anything that he could actually _see_ what was happening. The thought makes his face erupt with warmth. He- he shouldn’t- he _can’t-_

“Don’t you dare say anything, Stoker,” Martin says, but it’s not quite as forceful as Jon is sure he was aiming for. In fact, his voice is quick to dissolve entirely. Soon it’s nothing more than shuddering breathes and whimpers, little moans. All the while Tim continues to speak, his voice a charming undertone as it resonates through the space. Beneath it all, Jon can very faintly hear the sound of something wet. 

Is… is Tim fingering Martin? As soon as Jon realizes what must be happening, the image comes unbidden into his mind. What do they look like, together in the dark? Martin cornered at the back of the closet, back pressed against boxes, while Tim slots himself against the man until they’re neatly intertwined. One hand must have slipped past Martin’s jeans, maybe popping the button and unzipping them for easier access. Jon can practically see Tim’s hand in Martin’s underwear, the fingers flexing as he presses in and out. 

On the tape, Martin utters a single sharp, “Fuck,” through his teeth, and Jon’s entire body jolts. The current travels straight to the space between his legs, a startlingly bright sensation that helps Jon realize he’s aroused. Very aroused. 

He scoffs aloud in utter disbelief. He can’t- he doesn’t- This sort of thing doesn’t work for him! It never has. Jon has never gotten excited by much. Sure, he sometimes masturbates, but the desire is almost always the result of a dream or a desperate need to manufacture some stress relief. For the most part he found it a troublesome task that took far too long to accomplish with not much of a reward. And, as had always been the case, the thought of having anyone else actively involved in said tedium is unpleasant to Jon. 

So why this, why now? Why could Jon feel exactly how wet he was getting? Why was he so flustered? Why was he shaking -- trembling, really -- at the sound of Martin coming undone beneath Tim’s fingers? 

Oh, god, the audio is still going. 

Jon tunes in just in time to hear the end of Tim’s last sentence, “...he’d say. What do you think, Martin?” 

If Martin had tried to answer, his efforts were thwarted by whatever Tim did. Instead he only keens, loudly, then gasps, and Jon can hear the gentle smack of skin on skin. Martin continues to make noises, little moans that caught in his throat, but they’re muffled now. Was one of them covering his mouth? 

“I can take a wild guess,” Tim was saying. “Obvious answer is he’d tear into you for it, right? Look down his nose at you, make you feel ashamed for being such a horny little thing, can’t even keep it in your pants long enough not to fuck around in the broom closet.

“Or… maybe, maybe instead, he’d be satisfied, huh? What about that? Finally, it would make sense to him. _This_ is what you’re good for.” 

Martin makes a desperate noise, something caught between a moan and a cry, and his voice is clear when he curses again. Tim chuckles darkly. “We could set you up,” he continues, “right in the middle of the archives. You’d like that, right? You could sit back and look pretty and maybe- fuck, maybe then we could blow off some fucking steam, right? Get our minds off all the bullshit. Just use our pretty little fucktoy whenever we wanted and alleviate some stress. Who knows, maybe even Jon would play with you-”

“Fuck, fuck-!” 

Something- happens. Jon has no idea what. For a while there had been a rhythm, Martin’s noises rocking along with the wet slide of fingers, the gentle creaking of the shelves, Tim’s voice. But then there’s a choking noise, and Tim lets out a harsh grunt.

Then Martin is coming, that much Jon knows for sure. It’s in the way Martin’s voice curls around in that empty space, carried into the cassette and back out for Jon to hear. He can tell by the way Martin whimpers, needy little gasps hinting at his motion, and Jon can imagine the way his hips rock into Tim’s hand, trying to pull him in deeper, to keep up the friction. Tim is saying something, but Jon can’t make it out; he sounds muffled, like he put his face into something soft -- Martin’s shirt? His shoulder, or maybe his neck? 

When things go still, for a while there is only heavy breathing from both men. Jon can hear himself breathing, too, shallow and far too frantic. He forces himself to adjust his posture, pull out of the hunch he’s developed, but the motion reminds him of his arousal. He instinctively presses his thighs together, but that only adds to the feeling, delivering a gentle bout of pressure that teases his cock. Jon has to bite his lip to keep from making any unbecoming noises. 

The tape continues to roll on. After a minute or two, he hears heavy breathes and shuffling. There’s the clear, distinct sound of Tim pulling his fingers out of Martin. It seems too loud and horridly vulgar now, but that only makes Jon’s cheeks heat up again. He hears Martin sigh, then chuckle weakly. 

“Feeling alright?” Tim asks.

“Y-yeah. Yeah,” Martin replies. “How are you?”

“Don’t worry, I’m- good,” Tim says, a hint of humor in his voice, and that earns a proper laugh from Martin. Jon has never heard him laugh like that before. It’s a little loud in the small closet, but bright and easy, and it ends in a little snort that only spurs more giggles. Tim joins him for a second, then all the laughter fades into little duet of pleased humming -- they must be kissing again. 

Jon listens to the rest of the tape, but there’s little else. He hears the two of them mumble about a mess, and Tim says he’ll go to the nearby bathroom to wash up, so Martin can go back down to the archives first. There’s the rustling of clothes being readjusted, then the door is opened and Jon hears them both leave. 

Almost immediately, the tape clicks. It sounds entirely too satisfied with itself, Jon can’t help but think. 

Which is an insane thought. But Jon feels a little insane right now, honestly. What he just did was- ridiculous, unbelievable. He may as well have lost his mind completely. 

And he absolutely has, he realizes, because there’s no sense of restraint or propriety to be found when Jon reaches for the second tape. 

**Author's Note:**

> i do have the next two parts in mind, but i'm not sure when i'll write them, so hope you enjoyed this for now!


End file.
